A Bed of Roses
by josmi1351
Summary: After a mission goes south, it is Clint who ends up in the sealed black coffin. Torn between missing Clint and moving on, Natasha's life begins to dwindle, causing her to rethink the life she's lived. When she flees America, it takes the other Avengers to coax her back and have her begin to let go of her past.
1. Chapter 1

**Originally this started out as an idea for my creative writing assignment. The characters morphed and became too similar to Natasha and Fury, so I decided to change some parts and just make it a small Avengers story. It should only be a few parts. The storyline is fairly simple, but I liked the idea and how the characters initially bounced off each other. So review, follow and let me know what you think! **

The sun made its way through the cloud today. It was the first time in days. Rain had poured from the sky, followed by layers of clouds and eerie fogs. I had almost become accustomed to the damp and dreary weather. It reflected my mood.

I stood beside the trees, looking on at the group of people gathering around the church doors. My legs practically screamed to lean against the large trees, but my mind kept them locked in place. Not only would the trees muck up my dress, but somehow leaning against them seemed like admitting defeat. I never had done that and I didn't think I ever would.

The people stared at me, I could sense it. Not long gazing stares; they whispered and talked, then looked at me, their eyes staying in one spot a little too long, before turning cheek and resuming to chatter about whatever news there was this week. I hated them. I didn't want them to be here, but they were entitled to come. It didn't make a difference in my mind.

In my gazing around, my eyes met the one person who I actually wanted there. However, I had no desire to talk to him; my mind was already creating ways to escape. I knew it wouldn't work.

He began to make his way over to me, slow but steady, crunching through the leaves quietly. The others were dressed up for the occasion, wearing fine suits and light dresses. He simply wore the same clothes that he did ever day. This day wasn't much different than the others; most likely these gatherings were a regular occurrence.

"That's an old dress." He wasn't far away now, only a few meters, but the voice sounded miles away in my head. "He showed me pictures. You were there, wearing that dress." His voice was dry, but steady as the way he walked.

I nodded and clearly my throat silently. "I wore it to a party we went to shortly after leaving." My voice was betraying my heart. I bowed my head a little, pretending to admire and contemplate the dress. He wouldn't see the tears welling in my eyes.

"It was the only dress that was suitable for the occasion. Besides, he would've wanted me to wear it again."

The man looked from me, to the crowd of people by the church, then back to me. I knew what he was thinking, he didn't have to say it.

"They come because it's the easy thing to do," he started.

"-But it doesn't mean it's the right thing." My voice was sharp as I cut him off. He didn't say anything about it though; he could be a forgiving man at times.

I was tired of playing the game; tired of listening to speeches and words of kindness; tired of watching people move around, scared and understanding of each other; I was tired of being here right now.

With a small smile and nod at the man, I turned away. Maybe I could get out while I still had a chance.

"You're not leaving," the man said, raising his voice so I could hear over the crunching leaves. I looked over my shoulder at the man. He was standing with his hands in the coat pockets, looking at the box. "It's not going to be that easy."

I smile, the world becoming a little sunnier. "I didn't expect it to be director. But don't think I won't put up a fight."

I kept walking, feeling the wind brush through my hair. It would be a mess now. With each step I walked faster, the wind and my quick striding making the long skirt rise and ripple against legs.

I was leaving and no matter what anyone did, I wasn't coming back. I'd already made that mistake, and it landed me in the place I least ever wanted to be.

When the alarm went off early the next morning, I had to spend minutes reminding myself that I didn't need to get up. After years of routine, I no longer needed my brain to function. Get up, run, shower, eat and go to work. It was simple and I found comfort in it. With time on my hands now, I was at a loss of what to do.

Eventually I did get up; there was no falling back asleep once the alarm went off. Just because I wasn't working now didn't mean I needed to chance the routine.

I ran for longer than usual, taking the scenic route around the park. Running cleared my head. I enjoyed it. The post run shower was short as always. To me there was no point in just standing under hot water. It was an utter waste of time.

I skipped getting dressed, throwing a robe on so I wasn't just casually sitting around in bra and underwear, an headed right to the kitchen to make breakfast. Except, I couldn't really cook. Breakfast was a bowl of cereal, which I ate on the couch, and an apple which was devoured on the drive to work. Seeing as I wasn't going to work, I wasn't eating an apple today.

A few hours passed before I got up from the couch. Normally I didn't turn on the TV except at night to watch films and the odd drama. Suddenly cartoons and reality shows captivated my mind.

It wasn't until the phone rang that I became aware of the time. As the phone on the wall blared away, I stumbled off the couch, yelling at it. For an inanimate object, the telephone received a lot of hate.

Even though the phone had stopped ring, I still picked it up. It tended to malfunction every few days.

"Romanova residence." The voice on the other end sighed and cleared his throat.

"Natalia, I know it your house."

Of course he knew it was my house; he had bought the damn house. It just wasn't a private phone line and I don't trust people who actually bother to phone people in this day and age.

"I'm not coming in. I told you that already. So can you please refrain from calling me." I was happy. My voice perfectly reflected how incredibly bored, tired and pissed off I was.

The director muttered something away from the phone. I couldn't make out what it was. He sounded tired through.

"You've still got to come in to sign the severance papers and collect your things. I'll see you this afternoon."

The line went dead. Slowly, I set the phone back on the hook. It would be the last time I would need to enter that building. I'd might as well get it over with.

In a trance, I picked up the dirty dishes, set them in the sink, and headed to my room to find some proper clothes. My mind wasn't processing as it should, mind it, I never would have expected it to.

—

The locker room was quiet. Only a few people were there. Thankfully they didn't attempt to talk with me.

I kept walking to the back of the room, to the row of lockers closet to the training rooms. Top agents had first choice on lockers, and it had become a tradition that the top ones had these lockers.

As I came around the last corner, the row came into view. Except, it somehow was different. The name plate had been removed from his locker, the screw holes gaping uneasily. I wanted to turn tail and run home, but my feet were rooted to the ground. Cautiously I approached and entered the combination into the key pad. They hadn't changed it yet.

The door swung fully open. I remembered at that moment that he had broken it one night after a mission. The reason, I'm not entirely sure, but the director hadn't been pleased.

Everything was still in the locker from the day we'd left. It looked normal. The duffle bag was thrown on the bottom, with a jacket tossed on top. Bow oil and extra strings sat on a little shelf. A glock, which was probably mine, was carelessly left hanging from a hook. Nothing had changed.

Without a second look, I quickly packed everything into the duffle bag and heaved it over my shoulder. If I kept looking, something emotion was bound to happen.

I slammed the locker and moved the two spaces over to mine. The combination was the exact same. They weren't supposed to be but we'd both agreed it would be easier.

Compared to his, my locker was bare. A jacket was hung up on a hook, with a scarf stuffed inside the sleeve. A glock and a knife were tied together inside one of the belts. The only personal things inside were a pair of pointe shoes in their case, and a dog eared photo of them sitting in one of the fighter jets.

That picture came out just as quickly and stealthily as the other things, and was thrown into the duffle bag as well. No one needed to see her cleaning out their lockers. Or what they kept inside their lockers.

I slipped out of the locker room unnoticed and left alone. Thankfully no one I knew had come up from the practice rooms.

I trudged through the corridors, choosing the longest route to the directors office. Instead of taking the elevator, I took the stairs; the small allies instead of main paths; the rooftop walkway instead of the normal paths. Ignorance was bliss. I deeply wanted to turn around and catch the car back home, where I could pretend the world didn't exist. I wasn't that fortunate.

I had come to the end of the line. I'd avoided all security checks and office personal who would ask questions and want to share their condolences. I didn't want any part of that; all I wanted to do was leave.

The door was left ajar, so I simply walked in without bothering to knock. He knew I was coming, it wasn't any shock.

He was sitting at the desk, a file open on his desk. His clothes were the same as they were everyday. Either he didn't change or his entire closet was composed of the same shirts and pants.

"You came," he stated without lifting his eyes from the file. I was used to this.

I grimaced and found my way to the chair in front of the desk. The chairs weren't meant to be comfortable. Whenever we'd come back from a mission, we'd usually bring the lazy chairs from the coffee house. The director had been angry at first, but he was also amused as to how we'd actually got the chairs out.

"What do I need to sign." I wanted to get out of here was quickly as possible. Forgot politeness. I should've never been here in the first place.

The director looked up from the file and slid it smoothly across the table. The file was opened to the last page, one with bore the title 'Termination'.

Without fully reading the page, I picked up a pen from the dish and scrawled my name. The next blank stared at me, as though it was the end of a gun. There wasn't a signature.

I hastily closed the file and slid it back. "That's it then?"

The director nodded and picked up the file before tucking it into the envelope to be filed.

"You're a free agent. There's some files in the box outside that are yours to be dealt with. Burn them if you wish, just don't sell them, or we will drag you back in the way you first entered."

I didn't have anything else to say. So instead of saying any final goodbye, I curtly nodded and pushed up from the chair. The duffel bag swung from my shoulders, hitting my hip awkwardly every few steps.

"I'm sure we will meet again," the director called as I opened the door. I took the files off the table and turned to look at him before shutting the door. He didn't look sad, but a hint of emotion was present in his eyes. I didn't have anything else to say.


	2. Chapter 2

*5 months later: New York*

Steve walked into the main lounge at the tower. He'd been away for the last few weeks; tidying up Fury's loose ends. Now he was finally back in New York and would have the chance to catch up on everyone's lives.

"Stark." He nodded to Tony who was fiddling around with something on the couch, while on his way to pour a cup of coffee. The playboy-billionaire muttered something before setting the metal down and getting up to join Steve at the breakfast bar.

"Where's everyone?" The captain asked, sliding the pot and Tony. He caught it and in one fluid motion had a full cup.

Tony took a gulp from the mug before answering the question.

"Bruce is coming up from the lab. He's supposed to be bringing up a torch."

There was no point in asking questions, Steve had learned that months ago. Tony and Bruce hadn't burned down the tower yet, and if they managed to succeed, well, Tony had life insurance.

"Where's Natasha?" Tony asked. "I thought she was due to land with you."

Steve shook his head. "She hasn't been back for months. Fury is letting her decide what missions she wants, transferring her wherever she needs. Last I heard she was in Sydney patching some ties up with agents there."

Tony raised his eyebrows. Something wasn't right. Natasha had been absent from the tower for months. Specifically, since Clint's death. The team decided not to attend the funeral, they didn't think they would be able to hold themselves together, and Natasha had been gone since that afternoon. News around SHIELD had died down. Only the odd files came in concerning the Russian agent. Things never stayed quiet for long at SHIELD.

"You want anything to eat?" Steve asked, breaking Tony's concentration.

"Uh, no. I'm good thanks."

Tony for up from the stool and began to walk around, mulling ideas over in his head. Things just weren't right.

Shortly after Steve had cooked his chicken nuggets, Bruce came up the stairs into the lounge. He was wearing an old Stark Industries shirt and a pair of jeans. Since he'd moved into the tower, Bruce spent the majority of his time in the labs with Tony. Overall, the duo had a good partnership.

"Back for the week Steve?" Bruce asked, setting a blow torch on the tab. Steve turned the end away from his chicken nuggets.

"In theory, yes. I doubt Fury will actually let me have all seven days to myself."

Bruce smiled and sat down on one of the bar stools. "Any news from Natasha?"

Steve shook his head and sighed. "Just that she's in Sydney working on something for Fury."

Bruce looked concerned, but he didn't make any further comments. He had the ability to understand everyone's emotions without ever needing to ask. It probably came with the whole loosing control into a green monster thing.

"He's trying to figure it out," Bruce stated, turning his stood so he had a better look at Tony. Iron Man was now sitting on the floor, staring out the window at the Manhattan skyline. "He's been asking about them both for the last few months, but he manages to keep his mind busy. He rarely leaves the lab unless he has to."

Bruce smiled and poured himself a coffee. "You should see the lab now. He's basically built a second home down there."

Steve smiled, the smile you gave a friend when they were sitting at the ER in a hospital. It hadn't been an uplifting conversation, but he was glad to know the truth right away. There was no point pretending what had and hasn't happened.

Standing up, Steve set his dishes in the sink and started making his way to the elevator.

"I'm just going to clean up, and then I'll be back," he told Bruce while giving him a short wave. Bruce nodded and turned his attention back to Tony. It was time to discover what was still in Tony's head five months later.

* * *

><p>When Steve got back from showering and unpacking his bags, he was relieved to find Bruce and Tony crouched beside each other on the couch with laptop between them. Steve wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but Tony had stopped looking like an abandoned puppy.<p>

"Anything I can help with?" The super solider sat down next to Bruce, leaving enough space so he didn't feel trapped.

Bruce nodded and looked up from the computer screen. "We've got access to SHIELD's basic files. Jarvis is running the codes to get into the main hard drive."

Steve nodded and looked at the screen. So far it was just lines of code. Every once and a while, files would appear before quickly being swiped away.

"We've got the files on Natasha's missions, but they're nothing very interesting. Basically just pick up and drop off locations with minimal details on the missions themselves. Honestly, there's not much to go on. You were right when you said she's in Sydney."

Steve smiled to himself and kept reading. Maria had told him something truthful at least, but like Tony and Bruce, he was becoming more skeptical with every day that passed.

"Sir," Jarvis' voice filled the empty room, "the archives and Fury's personal network has been opened. You have a few hours until he notices the changes."

Tony nodded and pulled down one of the holographic screens. "Thank you Jarvis. Search for anything with Agent Barton and Romanoff's names within the last year please."

"Certainly sir."

Within a few seconds, the layers of files and code had been replaced with the main files pertaining to Tony's description.

"Capt, take the laptop from Bruce and read all the files about Red's latest adventures. Look for repetition, code names, anything that your army eyes suspect gets highlighted."

Bruce opened up the files and passed the laptop over to Steve, who carefully placed it on the coffee table and started to read.

"Bruce, open another screen and start looking through the paper work. I'll take the main files and reports."

A few hours passed and still nothing came up. If Fury was hiding something, he had gone to multiple extends to bury the paperwork. Seeing as both Clint and Natasha were top agents, there were multiple files regarding everything from training schedules to hit lists.

"Got something," Steve practically shouted. Simultaneously, Bruce and Tony leaped up and were perched on either side of Steve.

"It's not much," the super solider admitted, "but it's a hole. Every flight that Natasha catches coordinates with a shipment flight a few days before. The flights are prearranged. In the reports, no time line is given. However, each mission is completed within 7 days, the exact time shipments go to each base."

Steve shrugged and turned to look at Tony's who's eyes were scanning the multiple maps and files that Steve had managed to find.

"Well, you're right Spangly in that it's not much." Tony took the laptop and flicked through more pages before closing them and returning the laptop back to the table. "It could just be that they're saving fuel, but it's defiantly odd."

Suddenly Bruce's screen started lighting up, with a small siren noise playing over the sound system. The three Avenger's abandoned Steve's screen for Bruce's.

"Deceased?" Bruce's lip twisted in an odd way. "Hey Tony, pull this other file up on yours -it's sensitive."

Tony nodded and slid the file over to his screen. Steve simply watched as the Science Bros read through the reports.

"Deceased files for Barton," Bruce muttered without taking his eyes off the screen. "Basic information, but there's corners reports and Natasha's mission report as well."

"Mark it and save it to Jarvis. We'll go through it later. Right now I might have got our problem."

Tony made his screen larger so everyone could clearly see. The file was stamped with 'Termination' cleared printed in red ink. The file opened and Tony began paraphrasing.

"Termination of contract...resignation upon death of partner...reference to the Red Room and other files...hey listen up. "Although Agent Romanoff has resigned, her files will not be erased due to the Avengers Initiative and her connections with the Red Room. However, upon reconfirmation, Agent Romanoff will return to SHIELD under the protection of the United States Government and the World Security Council. Failure to do so will result in her permeant termination.""

Bruce whistled. "So that means-"

"-Fury refuses to accept her resignation." Steve gave Bruce an apologetic look for cutting in. "Whatever she's done, people will be hunting her. By saying she's still part of SHIELD, Fury can keep her safe and have something to hold over her head. Until she comes back, that file is still good. If she's brought in anywhere and refuses to accept help from SHEILD...well she's on her own."

Tony quickly saved the files and closed the screens. He stood up from the couch and began pacing again. His mind was processing a million thoughts at the moments, but he couldn't focus on a single one.

"Was there anything about where she is now?" Steve asked, getting up from the couch to make another pot of expensive coffee.

Bruce waited for Tony to answer. He didn't, so Bruce tried to remember what he'd read. "She's off the map at this point. No one's made contract with her or picked up a trace."

For Steve, having a friend go missing was not only stressful, but also concerning. Since the loss of Bucky, he always did his best to protect the people who he cared for. Natasha was one of those people. She'd been kind and helpful on missions, but never once second guessed his usefulness or strategies.

"Have a plan Capt?"

Steve was shaken from his memories by Bruce's voice. The man wasn't angry yet; simply frustrated by the lack of results.

"Nothing that would be remotely possible or makes sense."

Both avengers sat in silence, their minds processing the information while their eyes followed Tony back and forth across the balcony. If someone were to look into their brains at this moment, they would see millions of ideas, ranging from stupidly easy to nothing that would ever actually be able to happen. For every idea that was created, there were ten good reasons why it wouldn't work.

It took a doctor, a super solider and a millionaire-playboy-philanthropist five more hours to create a plan -a solid, questionable plan.

* * *

><p>"So I'm just going to walk in there, get a scan of his eye and leave?"<p>

"Yes, that is the plan Captain."

"What if he doesn't even have the stuff we need? We could just break into the government at this point."

"Trust me, I've done both and this is easier."

"Where's Bruce? I thought you said he would meet me in the lab."

"Small change in the plan, he's going to Natasha's house. He found the old keys."

"She changed the lock."

"It was a widow key."

"Oh...so do I somehow assault him and get the eye patch off right away or did we decide poison?"

* * *

><p>Natasha closed the door and slumped into her chair. She was exhausted, but the good kind of exhausted that came from aching muscles and concentration. Once rested, she took a hoodie off the hook on the door and slipped it over he head, careful not to pull the pins from her hair. She had an hour or so until she had to go back. More than sleep she need something to eat.<p>

She stuffed her boots on and grabbed her coat before walking out of the room and down the hall to the exit. Her legs would be cold with just tights on, but the cafe was just down the street. If she walked quickly, she'd only be outside for a minute.

The cold Moscow air bit her cheeks and legs as she quickly walked down the street. Natasha was happy that the cafe was empty when she stepped inside. She would be able to get a coffee and salad without being recognised. The days had passed when she ducked her head to the side while passing camera and people who looked suspicious. Although still cautious, Natasha was calmer in public and able to walk down the street without much fear.

"The usual?" The waitress asked when Natasha approached the counter. She nodded and patiently waited for the travel cup to arrive on the counter.

Seeing as it wasn't busy, Natasha stayed to eat in the cafe, choosing the bench in the back corner. Salads were always better off in a bowl rather than the plastic take out container. Plus, her coffee would still be hot ten minutes later.

She stuffed her salad down fairly quickly, before draining back the coffee. Before leaving, she gave a quick wave to the waitress, making sure to point back at the tip on the table.

Natasha walked just as quickly back to the theatre as she left it. For a sunny day, it was still cold and dreary. Normally she would've gone through the back doors, but due to the cold, she didn't feel like waiting for someone to come let her in. Instead, she ducked through the front doors and found her way backstage again.

Walking down the hall to her dressing room, she found one of the other girls heading towards the stage.

"Full costume Nina?" She asked, trying to remember what they had decided this morning.

Nina nodded. "Finishing layers were added this morning but we should be good for them now."

Natasha smiled and nodded, telling Nina that she'd be onstage shortly. If there was one day Natasha looked forward to with every ballet, it was the first run through in costumes.

Almost running, she found her dressing room and let herself in. A smile appeared over her face when she saw the bag hung upon the costume racks. Natasha could have torn the bag open, but she restrained herself.

Deep breath, she thought, carefully unzipping the bag. You'll be a fool if you rip any of the layers.

The black tutu shimmers when she turned it, the edges looking sharp as ice. She hadn't expected it to look like this. Everything she'd read about the performance led her to believe that the costume would be daintier, something that formed more to the dances. However, she had to admit that this was so much better.

Before long, she was in full costume and was standing on the stage wings. When the act ended, she walked out onto the stage where all the other had gathered.

"Did you want it to be like this?" Her voice was quiet, but strong. As the director and every other person in the room turned to look at her, she lifted her arms and slowly turned.

The directed nodded. "Could not be more perfect." He finished telling Nina something about the last dance before sending her away and beckoning Natasha to his side.

"I thought it was going to be softer," she explained, carefully touching the edges.

"For another girl, maybe." The director took a step back and signalled to Natasha to start the dance. "You, Natalia, managed to take the black swan to a different level of insanity and distress. It's been many years since I have been able to perform this variation. Someone so cold deserves a costume fitting to the character."

Natasha stayed en pointe long after the director has stopped talking. She tried not to let what he had said go to her head, but she had to admit, she deserved the praise. For the last five months, she'd thrown everything from her life -trauma, love, anger- into the ballet, challenging herself to be accepted as one of the principle dancers. And it payed off. She was now Odie, the evil twin sister, in Swan Lake. She wished she could tell Clint. He would've loved to see her on stage again.

When Natasha finished, the director called everyone back and had them run through the act again. It seemed they could never repeat the same movements enough. There was always something to be corrected.

It seemed like hours later when they were dismissed from the stage. Natasha wanted to crawl into bed and never come out at this point.

"Hey Natalia!"

The voice caught Natasha's attention, making her pop her head out of the dressing room door. It was Nina, coming out from her own room.

"You have anyone coming to the opening on Saturday? They wouldn't want to miss seeing you in that costume."

Oh Nina, the girl, no matter what seemed to happen, she could keep a genuine smile on her face. If only she knew.

Natasha shook her head and gave a sad smile. "I don't really have any family to come see it."

Nina's smile dropped and before Natasha could blink, she was wrapped up in the girl's arms.

"The whole country will be watching. People will fall in love with you. Besides, you've got a new family right here."

Natasha couldn't help but smile. This was her dream as a little girl; it was finally coming true. Just not from the reasons she ever wanted it to.

* * *

><p>Steve, Bruce and Tony once again found themselves huddled are a computer screen. Only this time they were in a better mood.<p>

"Are you sure we should be reading this?" Steve was still uncomfortable with the ideas of going through Natasha's personal files. Even though it would be beneficial to have read the file, the super soldier was nervous of the day Natasha found out.

"Well," Bruce mused, scrolling through the pages, "it's sure not pretty. But we've got some ideas to work from."

Tony opened up another screen and started quickly moving additional paperwork around before beckoning to Jarvis.

"Research any dancers at the Bolshoi Theatre in the last 30 years that have crossovers. Names, history, date of birth."

"Certainly Sir."

Upon hearing the alarm go off, Steve rose from the couch to take the pizza out of the oven. No one had felt like cooking or even calling the pizza parlour down the block. Eventually Bruce had found a frozen pizza and stuck it in the oven, claiming that it would probably taste decent.

"Why the theatre?" Steve asked while cutting the pizza into thirds. "I understand the Russia part; it's technically her home country."

Tony took a break from the screen to come eat the pizza. It was his first time in a few days actually eating at the table. A hungry and exhausted Bruce followed slowly behind him, taking the usual seat across from Steve.

"Ballet was one of the things taught in the Red Room," Tony explained between bites. "It was linked to the Bolshoi Theatre. There's a chance Natasha was actually part of the company. If she went back to Russia, she might have an old friend who's helping her."

Steve could see that as a possibility, although he didn't exactly see Natasha as a person to actively seek help. Bruce expressed that idea earlier in the search, but Tony had said over and over that they needed everything they could get. At this point they were looking for one person in the entire world.

"Sir," Jarvis' voice came over the system. There was a small hint of promise in the computerised Al. "I've found a match between the Red Room and Bolshoi Theatre. Natalia Alianovna Romanova was a student there in her childhood. Five months ago, she rejoined the company again for the production of Swan Lake. The opening is this Saturday."

Steve's jaw dropped. He was completely stunned. To an extend Bruce was too. Tony however practically jumped up from the table to start yelling commands at Jarvis.

"Do you think it's her?" Steve asked Bruce quietly. He didn't want to seem hesitant, but after days of research, he could hardly believe the news.

Bruce nodded, a gleam of hopefulness present in his eyes. "It would seem very probable. Natasha goes back to Russia, takes her old name. The ballet part is a bit of a shock. She never told us she danced."

"Meet me down in the garage in ten minutes ready to go." Tony was still yelling at them as he ran downstairs to get whatever he needed ready.

Did the man seriously think that ten minutes would be long enough to get ready and be in a car?


End file.
